


You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

by moodlighting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghosts, M/M, Neighbors, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Supernatural Elements, it was never supposed to be this serious, this is kind of sad and moody for a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:58:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Louis moves in next door to Harry. Louis has a ghost, Harry has an extra futon and a crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt I saw on tumblr, which I have since lost the link to. This is unbeta-ed and I'm American, so apologies in advance for anything glaringly unreadable. Also, please note that this fic includes a mention of an ill child (it gets better) and a small discussion of death if that's an issue for anyone - nothing too dramatic though!
> 
> Title taken from the song Didn't Leave Nobody But the Baby, and Harry tweeted it that one time.
> 
> As always, this is completely false.

At first, Harry isn’t sure what wakes him up. One moment he’s dreaming and the next he’s awake, chasing after the scattered images of his dream and his rapidly waning unconsciousness. Rolling over with a groan, he scrubs the mess of his hair out of his eyes with a clumsy palm and fumbles to turn his alarm clock, which reads 1:24. The light from the streetlamps below his window casts the room in a weighted, sallow glow. It’s far too early in the night for Harry to be awake.

Then there’s a gentle but urgent series of knocks on his door, undoubtedly the same ones that had woken him up. Harry sits up sharply in bed, his sheets gathering at his waist. He narrows his eyes at his front door in a shrewd, sleepy glare. Knocks on his door after one am could never be a good sign. Quickly, Harry frees himself from the tangle of his bedding, throws a blanket over his naked shoulders, and stumbles to the door. He doesn’t look through the peephole – an amateur horror movie mistake to be sure, but he is still half asleep – and jiggles at the dodgy handle until the door comes unstuck. He wrenches it open with a harsh tug.

As his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the hallway, Harry finds himself squinting down at his new next-door neighbor, Louis, who had just moved in earlier that afternoon. Harry had met him when he and Liam from the fourth floor – the other half of their building’s welcoming committee – had brought him muffins. He’d seemed nice enough, harried amidst the chaos of moving in but certainly not the type to come over and murder Harry in the middle of the night. Maybe not, though. Harry is reconsidering his initial impression.

Louis meets his gaze with a grim, closed-lip smile.

“Um, can I help you?” Harry asks cautiously, voice crackly with lost sleep.

“It’s Harry, right?”

“Yes…?” Harry answers slowly. He chances a look around Louis down the rest of the hallway. There’s only the two of them and the buzzing hum of the lone florescent light.

“Look, this is going to sound mad since I just moved in,” Louis says, sounding impatient with himself, “but my flat appears to be a bit haunted.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at him incredulously. He almost laughs too, except Louis really doesn’t look like he’s come to Harry’s door to have a laugh. He seems a little perturbed actually, his blue eyes wide and fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his t-shirt. Harry glances down and sees that Louis has a blanket and pillow tucked under his arm. He frowns at him confusedly. “I’m…sorry?” he attempts.

Louis sighs. “Could I just crash here?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Mate, I am so not sleeping with a ghost in my room, so I need a place to kip for the night until I figure out what to do. You’re the only person I know apart from that other bloke with the muffins, and I don’t know where his room is.”

“Liam’s in 402,” Harry offers, baffled.

“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I need to escape the undead,” Louis says shortly. “But while I’m _here_ …” he gestures into the darkness of Harry’s flat.

Maybe Harry’s a bit too trusting. Maybe he would never make it if he was in a horror movie, but it’s not his flat that has a ghost problem, after all. Or maybe he just can’t say no to cute boys with rumpled hair and anxious eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he rushes to say. “Of course you can stay.”

Louis’ shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you.”

Harry pulls open the door to let Louis through. “Sorry, I’ve only got this futon that my sister gave me after she finished uni and it’s a little hard, but you can definitely sleep on it?” Harry suggests. “Oh, or you could have my bed I suppose. That would be the nice thing to do, wouldn’t it? The sheets haven’t been washed in awhile though. Not that they’re that gross! I’m not like, a massive slob or anything. If you want –”

“Harry, the futon’s fine,” Louis cuts in, putting an end to his rambling. “As long as you haven’t got a ghost, I really couldn’t care less.” He walks into the room and immediately drops down onto the futon with his pillow. He curls up on his side, making himself small as he wraps himself snug in his blanket.

“Right,” Harry says, somewhat dazed by this sudden turn of events, by the sight of this boy curled up in the middle of his flat. He realizes he’s still holding the door open and lets it fall shut with a _bang_ that echoes down the empty hallway _._ He really ought to talk to his landlord about getting that fixed.

Harry creeps around Louis and back into his own bed, lying down delicately and trying not to make any more noise. He feels out of place with another person in his flat, even while Louis remains absolutely silent across from him. Louis actually seems to be more at home in Harry’s flat than Harry is. Given the circumstances though, sleeping at a stranger’s is probably a lot less distressing than an unwelcoming spirit. Harry’s never had a ghost encounter before but he doesn’t think he’d be taking it as well as Louis is.

Harry hears Louis shift to face him, the wooden slats of the futon creaking under him, and their eyes meet in the pallid glow of Harry’s room. “Thanks for letting me stay here, man,” he whispers into the quiet.

“No problem,” Harry murmurs back. “Sleep well.”

Louis smiles softly and lets his eyes droop shut. Harry rolls over to face the window then, not wanting to keep staring at the boy while he tries to sleep. When Harry eventually drifts off, his ears are still straining to hear any unnatural noises that might come from Louis’ empty flat next door.

~

When Harry wakes up the next morning, Louis is gone and there’s a neon orange post-it note stuck to his forehead. ‘ _Thanks again for last night!!! Text me when you’re free and I’ll buy lunch to make it up to you_ ’ it reads in a jagged scrawl, followed by Louis’ phone number and a smiley face.

Without the post-it, Harry might not have even believed last night really happened. It was certainly one of the stranger nights he’d spent with someone without getting his dick touched.

Harry sticks the note to his alarm clock and scrubs his hands down his face, inspecting the space around him. Not much fits in his flat given that it’s only a little larger than a decently sized closet, but it doesn’t look like anything has been taken. It hadn’t been more than a passing concern in his disoriented, half-awake state last night, but now Harry’s glad he hadn’t been robbed or murdered. Everything looks exactly the same as it always has in the thin morning light, only Louis’ pillow and blanket and Louis himself missing.

Harry checks his work schedule on his phone, making sure he does have the day off before he texts Louis. He works at a call center four tube stops away, a job that only makes him want to die about half the time he’s there. It’s easy enough work, listening to people yell at him for package delays and misplaced orders that aren’t his fault, and at the very least it pays enough for Harry to keep his rundown, matchbox of a flat. Most of the building is falling apart – as evidenced by the state of his front door and the rickety fire escape outside his window – and Harry’s uni flat might have actually been bigger, but at least Harry has his independence. It’s a shithole, but it’s _his_ shithole.

He tells Louis he’s free all day, and they decide to meet up at the diner Harry suggests. It’s his favorite place to eat, with its checkerboard floor and tabletop jukeboxes and old glass ketchup bottles. An all-American diner at its finest. It’s dirt-cheap too, and has the best, greasiest food within walking distance of their building.

Louis finishes his morning shift at the coffee shop at one, but Harry makes a point to arrive at the diner early so he can chat up Dorothea, the waitress he’d befriended when he first moved to London. There’s comfort there, in her greying hair tucked under a paper bonnet, and the white of her apron, and the slices of pie she’ll sometimes sneak him. Harry is just one of the regulars now.

He’s gossiping with Dorothea, sipping on his second cup of coffee when Louis walks in, stomping snow off his shoes on the mat and pulling a bobble hat off his head. He slides onto the stool next to Harry with a quiet hello, then promptly slumps facedown onto the counter.

“Coffee, love?” Dorothea greets, steaming pot at the ready.

Louis groans. “No, thanks. I never want to see coffee again.”

“Long morning?” Harry chuckles.

“It was great,” Louis replies drily. “Love making lattes for snotty people in suits. They can spend a fortune on a shit cup of coffee but can’t even leave a decent tip, I tell you what.”

Harry laughs again and Dorothea quietly _mmhmms_ in agreement, passing Louis an ice water and a menu, which he opens and studies dutifully. “What’s good here then?” he asks, turning to Harry for a recommendation.

“Everything,” Harry says. “That’s why it’s the best.”

Louis shrugs. “Fair enough.”

They order cheeseburgers and chips and a caramel milkshake to split. Essentially still strangers despite their night spent together, they take the time to talk about their hometowns and families, about how they’d ended up in London, and about how they spend their time in their post-uni lives, scraping by at the bottom of the income distribution. They actually have a lot in common. Louis also explains how he’d landed himself in Harry’s building after being kicked out of his flatshare, and that if he’d known he would end up with ghost for a flatmate, he might not have left on such a sour note.

“How’d you figure out it’s haunted anyway?” Harry asks, absentmindedly swirling a chip around in his ketchup. Louis was an engaging storyteller, his quick words and sharp tongue far-removed from Harry’s slow, meandering ways. Harry could hardly look away from him, caught up in his animated blue eyes and hands waving around dramatically.

“Mm,” Louis hums excitedly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowing quickly. “Get this, right. I was in the shower last night when I heard some weird banging around. I’m in there like, ‘what the hell is that? Surely someone hasn’t broken in already.’ Thinking I had forgotten to lock the door, I run out in me towel and find every cabinet door in the kitchen thrown open. Some real I see dead people shit, you know? No one was there though, the door was locked.”

Harry's eyebrows lift in surprise. “I didn’t know ghosts were big M. Night Shyamalan fans.”

“No taste at all, I know,” Louis replies. “But we can all agree that _The Sixth Sense_ was his best work, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry allows, a smile quirking at his lips.

“I didn’t really think much of the cabinets afterward, pretty much ignored it altogether,” Louis continues. “How could you not? There’s not a lot of ways to explain that away. Then, right as I was about to fall asleep last night, I felt someone – or something – _sit down on my bed!_ Like, dip in the covers, bad special effects, the whole bit. And when it grabbed my ankle I obviously lost my head completely. Went tearing out of there trying not to scream my bloody head off. Barely managed to remember my pillow and blanket.”

“Wow,” Harry breathes.

“Then I knocked on your door.”

“Yeah, I remember that part,” Harry says. “No wonder you looked so shell-shocked.”

“It was some freaky shit,” Louis nods gravely, taking a long, resigned sip of their milkshake.

“So…what are you going to do about it?”

“Haven’t got a clue, mate,” Louis replies merrily. “How good are you at ghostbusting?”

“Probably not very,” Harry laughs. “I could politely ask the ghost to leave, maybe?”

Louis wrinkles his nose at him. “I don’t think that would work. Feels more like a malevolent spirit to me, not one to respond well to good manners.”

Harry munches on a few more chips, giving it some thought. “You could try a psychic? Get the flat cleansed?”

Louis scoffs. “You don’t actually believe in that rubbish, do you?” he asks, incredulous. “Like, crystals and astrology and shit?”

 _Says the man with a haunted flat and not a hermatite stone in sight_ , Harry thinks haughtily. He keeps that to himself. “You’re the one who believes in ghosts!” he says instead, brows furrowing grumpily. “And I’ll have you know that my horoscope reminded me to be a good listener today, so really you’re the one benefiting here.”

Louis giggles and asks, “What’s your sign, then?” He’s got a mischievous glint in his eye but Harry doesn’t feel like he’s being mocked.

“Aquarius, thanks for asking.”

“And are we compatible? I’m a Capricorn.”

 _Is that a line?_ Harry wonders, bewildered. “Uhh, I think our signs are actually completely opposed? So. No.”

“Well,” Louis says with a shrug. He doesn’t sound too put off, line or not. He dips a chip into the dregs of their milkshake. “You wouldn’t happen to know a psychic, would you?” he asks offhandedly.

Harry, still reeling from Louis’ last question, takes a moment to remember what they had been talking about before. “Oh, I do, actually! Tressa, she reads my Tarot once a year.”

“Wow, you really are –” Louis cuts off his laugh with a delicate cough when Harry sends him a withering look. “Sorry. And where could I find this Tressa, Harry?” he inquires sweetly.

“I think I have an old business card of hers back at my flat,” Harry says. “Let’s pay for this then we can go get it.”

~

“Well this is shit,” Louis announces as soon as he sets foot in Harry’s flat again.

An offended noise escapes from the back of Harry’s throat. “Excuse me?” he scoffs. He’s made a very serious effort to cover up the peeling walls of his flat with a lot of tasteful art prints, and always burns candles to give it a nice, homey feel. Despite its flaws, Harry rather likes his place. He will accept no insult.

“I couldn’t tell in the dark last night, but yours is definitely bigger than mine,” Louis goes on to say. Harry lets out a silent breath of relief, though he’s not sure why he even wanted Louis to like his flat to begin with. “What gives?” Louis demands. “I get the ghost _and_ the smaller flat?”

“Guess you’re just lucky in that way,” Harry laughs, turning away to rifle through his junk drawer for Tressa’s card.

Louis starts snooping around by Harry’s shelves, picking up things and lifting lids as he goes. “The least he could do is help me pay rent…” Harry hears him mutter.

“So it’s a he ghost?” Harry finally locates the card and plucks it out from under a rubber band ball with flourish.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Obviously. Dead or not, no man could resist all of this.” He gestures down to himself with an affected wave of his hand.

Harry narrows his eyes at him. He’s definitely being hit on now. He hands the card to Louis. “Anyway…I hope Tressa can help you? And if not, um, you know where I live?” Harry’s not sure how keen he is on gaining a roommate of his own, but it seems like the right thing to do, offering up his futon for a neighbor in need.

“Thanks, mate,” Louis replies. He smiles up at Harry. “I suppose I ought to head back, see what kind of disaster that ghost bastard has cooked up now.”

Harry nods. “Let me know if I can help with anything,” he offers earnestly. He walks Louis to the door and struggles with the knob until it unsticks itself.

Louis smirks down at the doorknob then back at Harry. “You really ought to get that fixed.”

Harry smirks back. “Good luck with your ghost, Louis,” he simpers. “I’ll see you around.”

~

That night, Louis shows up in a striped jumper, joggers, and fluffy moose slippers, blanket and pillow in tow. It’s only a little after nine when Harry hears the quiet knocks on his door. He’d been in the middle of pirating some music Zayn recommended him and tweeting something overly cryptic. With a huff, Harry hoists himself up off the futon and answers the door. He’s not all that surprised to see Louis on the other side.

“I brought muffins,” Louis says in lieu of a greeting, brandishing the plate of muffins in Harry’s face with a manic grin.

“Louis,” Harry sighs. “Those are the muffins I brought you two days ago.”

Louis lowers the plate, eying him suspiciously. “You can’t know that.”

“Yes I can, I’m the one who baked them.”

“Alright, that’s fair. However,” he raises a finger in his defense, “I also brought Jaffa Cakes _and_ crisps.”

Harry reluctantly swings the door open to let him in. “It’s almost nine thirty, haven’t you eaten already?”

Louis shrugs and plops down on the futon next to Harry’s laptop with all of his snacks. Harry trudges in after him and settles back in his own spot. They’re close enough that their knees brush.

“So…” Harry starts uncertainly when Louis doesn’t move to say anything. “What did the ghost do now?”

Louis picks at a loose piece of fuzz on his slippers. “Upended all of my unpacked boxes.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Yeah, just now I went downstairs to mail my change of address form and when I got back, every single box was turned on its side, some of them spilled everywhere, some of them even stacked on top of each other. Definitely not how I left them,” Louis says. “Which was terrifying to walk in on.”

Louis describes it with an air of nonchalance, but Harry can see the trembling in his fingers, the darting panic in his eyes. He doesn’t think Louis is the type to get scared often, and is obviously not one to show it – or ask for comfort. Luckily for Louis, Harry doesn’t need to be asked. He drops a tentative arm around Louis’ shoulders.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, giving him a gentle squeeze.

Louis bites his lip and turns to him, smiling tightly. “S’alright. What were you up to?”

“Was thinking about watching a film,” Harry answers. He wasn’t really. He had been planning on going to sleep soon so he could wake up early the next morning, but now he really doesn’t want to send Louis to bed with only a haunting on his mind. “Care to join?”

“I’d love to.”

Louis is curled up on his half of the futon, asleep long before the end credits roll. Harry startles awake from his own doze when the DVD menu screen begins to replay itself, the theme tune blaring. Blinking himself awake, he leans over and closes his laptop, which leaves the telly screen a blank, blinding blue. Even though the harsh light casts sharp shadows around the rest of the room, Louis still looks soft and peaceful in his sleep, his eyes dancing in dreams behind his waxy eyelids, his cheek propped up in a palm. Harry carefully pulls the blanket around Louis’ shoulders before moving to his own bed.

~

“I’m staying at yours tonight,” Harry insists sometime the next week. He’d worked a twelve-hour shift that day and Louis had pulled a double at the coffee shop, so Harry thinks they’re both too exhausted at this point for even the supernatural to keep them awake. “I want to see what this ghost is about, once and for all.”

“Alright,” Louis agrees, somewhat bewildered. “I don’t have a hand-me-down futon though. We’ll have to snuggle.” He waggles his eyebrows at Harry suggestively.

Harry pretends that the thought doesn’t make his heart race with anticipation. Between shared lunches and late nights spent together, he and Louis had been seeing each other a lot lately. Ultimately, Harry had been completely powerless against the overbearing crush he’s developed on his ghost-beleaguered neighbor.

Louis is spirited, delighting in life at the best of times and a manic, chaotic menace at the worst, and Harry wants nothing more, nothing less than that. Louis makes everything more exciting, from midnight trips to Sainsburys after the ghost tips all of his dishware to the ground, to taking quiet walks through the yellow, lamp-lit streets, their wellies squeaking on freshly fallen snow as they talk about their hopes and dreams – or lack thereof. Louis guards himself with a thin veneer of humor and self-deprecation, which Harry does appreciate – Louis is maybe one of the funniest people he’s met – but there’s a vulnerable side to him as well, something soft and touchable that’s usually hidden away. Selfishly, it’s Harry’s favorite part of him. He sees it sometimes, when Louis gets really scared, when he comes to Harry’s flat and tucks himself into Harry’s side, not asking for reassurance but receiving it anyway.

Harry likes everything about him, and he feels it so viscerally. He likes the softness of Louis’ hair and his penchant for hoodies; his wiry body and squirmy restlessness; the deep, dark circles under his eyes that never go away no matter how well he sleeps at Harry’s flat, and his bleating laugh. But Harry also likes being a comfort for Louis, so he doesn’t act on his feelings. Louis hadn’t expressed any interest in him since his ambiguous flirting from their first day together, and Harry respectfully keeps his distance, assuming Louis has more than enough to worry about.

They don’t actually see much of each other during the day, which is a bit strange. Louis comes over at night and by the time Harry wakes up the next morning, he’s always gone. Sometimes, when he gets a certain wild look in his eye, Louis almost feels like Harry’s imaginary friend, one that only visits in the nighttime. Or maybe he’s more like a booty call – minus any of the booty. Only in Harry’s dreams.

The evenings though, those they have together. When they’re making late-night brownies and a mess of Harry’s kitchenette, or dancing around to September by Earth, Wind & Fire as it blares from Harry’s old record player, or just talking in the dark before they fall asleep, it almost feels like they don’t have a bigger paranormal problem to deal with at all. But they do.

The first thing Harry notices when Louis keys them into his flat that night is that it looks startlingly normal. He’d built it up to be some frightening place in his mind, with creeping shadows in corners and objects moving about of their own accord. But when Louis flips on the light, Harry is greeted by familiar peeling walls, an unmade bed shoved in the corner, and Louis’ still-unpacked boxes taking up most of the rest of the space.

“Still not moved in, I see,” he notes wryly.

Louis tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter. “Don’t see the point if I might not be staying,” he says with a shrug.

That makes Harry’s heart stumble. He didn’t know Louis had been looking into other flats. He really doesn’t want Louis to leave, but what else should he have expected in the face of ghost? He would probably do the same.

They don’t actually do any snuggling when they climb into bed together, much to Harry’s dismay. It’s a full size bed, so there’s plenty of room for the both of them to spread out without touching. Harry can still feel the warmth of Louis’ body next to him though, and from where he lays, Harry would only have to scoot back a few inches to be spooned up against him. But he doesn’t make the move. He hears Louis’ breathing even out as he falls asleep next to him, and Harry begins to think that the night might pass without incident. There’s only the sound of the hissing and clanking of the radiator next to the bed, and the room remains still.

Just as his head starts to feel heavy, his lingering nerves dissipating, a resounding _bang_ fires off somewhere across the room. Harry nearly jumps halfway out of the bed, and he feels Louis do the same next to him. Harry does shift closer to him now, pressing his back up against Louis’ front as he moves away from the exposed edge of the bed.

“What the fuck?” Harry gasps. He feels Louis twist his fingers into the back of his shirt.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Louis hushes, his breath quivering, hot on Harry’s neck.

Every one of Harry’s limbs begins to vibrate, shaking with the adrenaline that flushes through his system. His mouth goes dry, and the hair on his arms stands up. He feels an icy finger of dread walk its way down his spine as he waits for what happens next.

There’s another thump, quieter this time, followed by another, another, and another. It sounds like boots treading slowly across the hardwood floor, moving closer to the bed. Harry’s eyes dart around the room, pupils dilated as he tries to pick out any sign of movement in the darkness. He sees nothing. Harry can feel Louis shivering next to him, his palm sweaty on Harry’s back where his fingers are still clenched in his shirt.

The footsteps halt, closer than ever, as if a figure has come to stand by the side of the bed. Harry’s breath stops completely. He can _feel_ the seconds passing as if they had substance, _feel_ the weight of unseen eyes heavy on him, and his terror is palpable. He hears Louis whimper behind him.

Then the sheets are ripped off of them, out of Harry’s fists, and billow out onto the floor.

They both scream. Louis begins frantically shoving his arms against Harry’s back, shoving him out of the bed as he shrieks unintelligible curses. They trip all over each other as they both scramble to the door, Louis’ fingers laying bruises into Harry’s arms where he grips onto him. He wrenches the door open, shoves Harry out into the hallway, and stumbles across the threshold after him. They throw their backs against the opposite wall, their heaving sides pressed together, and watch as the door slams itself shut behind them.

The hallway is a striking contrast to the scene inside Louis’ flat, and the bright florescent light and jaunty red carpet makes Harry’s head spin. He and Louis just stare at the door in shock until another loud _boom_ from inside the flat has Harry jumping again, snapping him out of his stupor. He grabs Louis’ wrist and drags him to his own door. His hands are shaking so much it’s hard to fit the key in the lock. Harry swears and tries taking an unsteady breath to calm down. Behind him, Louis has attached himself firmly to the length of Harry’s back, his hands clutching desperately at Harry’s waist. Under any other circumstance, that would have Harry’s heart thumping in his chest for an entirely different reason. But they’re both still trembling, and Harry is nearly blind with terror.

By some stroke of luck the key finally catches and he shoves the heavy door open, sending both of them tumbling inside. Without a word, they rush to Harry’s bed – bypassing the futon entirely – and hurdle under the covers. Harry backs up against the wall and reaches for Louis’ hands, dragging him closer to him before pulling the covers over both of their heads. Perhaps it’s a childish response, but in that small space there’s only a protective darkness, and warmth, and the sound of their panting breaths. Louis’ fingers are ice cold where Harry holds both of his hands in his own.

“We’re okay,” Harry soothes, voice shaky and shrill. “We’re okay.”

His assurances don’t help much. Not when Harry himself still feels paralyzed, even after the danger has passed. He can’t seem to stop trembling, and neither can Louis. Harry attempts to slow his breathing, steadily inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. Louis clenches his eyes shut – painfully so – and Harry does the same. They don’t say another word to each other, and they don’t sleep.

~

It becomes part of their routine. After the encounter in Louis’ flat, Louis no longer sleeps on the futon when he stays the night, but with Harry in his bed. When things go wrong he still shows up at Harry’s door with a frightened expression on his face and some kind of snack food to barter for his entry, but eventually Harry insists that he doesn’t need to be bribed at all, that the mild inconvenience of sharing his bed is worth Louis feeling safe and well rested. It’s not a selfless act either – they both feel reassured in sharing a space, comforted by each other and in having another real, tangible person next to them. Eventually Harry stops asking questions about the ghost altogether, when he begins to see how it makes Louis chew on his lip and wring his hands. It’s better that he doesn’t ask.

Months have passed by the time Harry first starts thinking about offering Louis a spare key to his flat. It would be easier that way; Louis could just let himself in on the bad nights instead of having to rouse Harry from his sleep. Harry quickly decides against it though, when he realizes that it wouldn’t just be a key, but a very real admission of his very real, unreciprocated feelings. Because while Louis spends some nights at Harry’s flat, he doesn’t spend _all_ of them there. Not even a majority of them. He talks a lot about an Eleanor and a Niall, though Harry hasn’t determined which one of them he’s actually dating. Louis has yet to unpack his boxes too, and the threat of him moving again lingers over Harry’s head like a personal rain cloud.

Harry often wonders if Louis does move, will he ever see him again? Because Harry can’t tell if he and Louis are actually friends, or just friends out of convenience. Sure, they have dinner together now and again, and go out and do things together, and Harry has more fun with Louis than he does with anyone else. But Louis also has a troublesome ghost situation going on, and Harry is happy enough just being the guy who can provide relief from that. Even if it means they aren’t really friends. Even if they aren’t going to become more than that. Or so Harry has tried to convince himself.

At least he knows Louis will come to him when he does need help, though. When something does matter.

Things had been getting a lot better up until the night Louis knocks on Harry’s door in tears. He hadn’t been over as often lately – Harry still didn’t know whether Eleanor or Niall was to blame for that – and when he did come to Harry’s door, he never looked as terrified as he used to. Harry knew Louis had been promoted at the coffee shop so money wasn’t as tight, and he hardly ever talked about the ghost anymore. Things had been looking up.

Which is why Harry is so startled when he yanks his door open and finds a tearful Louis on the other side. Without question, Harry immediately wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Are you okay?” he mumbles against Louis’ neck.

Louis only sniffles in response. Harry gets even more nervous. He stops hugging him and holds Louis out at arm’s length, his eyes roving over his body for injuries. “It didn’t hurt you did it?”

Louis wipes a fist at his eye and levels Harry with an enormously confused look. “What?” he croaks.

“The ghost?” Harry prompts.

“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “No, of course not. It’s not that at all. My –” he pauses, glancing over his shoulder to the open hallway. “Um, could I come in?”

“Yes,” Harry says, startling out of his concerned laser stare. “Of course.” He waves Louis in, assuring that the door closes softly behind him.

Louis makes his way over to Harry’s bed and sits down, resting his elbows on his knees as he holds his face in his palms. He looks completely dejected. Harry knows how to handle Louis’ fear, but he’s not quite sure how to approach Louis’ sorrow. He hesitantly sits down next to him, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist in a sideways hug. “What’s wrong, Lou?” he asks, his lips pressed gently to Louis’ shoulder.

“My brother,” Louis warbles, voice watery. “He’s in the hospital.”

Harry’s in way over his head. “Oh – oh god, is he going to be he alright? What happened?”

“He’s got RSV, it’s a respiratory infection,” Louis explains. “It had been under control all week, but then it got worse. He has pneumonia now, they’ve admitted him to intensive care.” A sob wrenches out of him. “Pneumonia’s life-threatening to babies his age, Harry.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry breathes. “If he’s in the hospital he’s getting the best help –”

“I can’t even be there,” Louis chokes out. “I have to work all weekend and I can’t afford not to. I need the money. And no one can cover for me anyway, I’d probably lose my job if I didn’t show up. I can’t lose my job, I can’t –”

Louis is verging on hysterical now, which is pretty close to fear. Harry’s seen Louis scared more times than he can count, he knows what to do. He shuffles around on the bed, backing up and laying down so he can pull Louis down next to him. He bundles him up in his arms, tucking Louis’ face under his chin as he begins to cry harder. Harry whispers soothing words in his ear, scratching his fingers lightly up and down Louis’ back, comforting him as best as he can. Louis’ hot tears wet his shirt but Harry couldn’t care less. All that matters is Louis.

“S’just stupid, you know?” he mutters into Harry’s chest once he’s calmed down some. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, swiping at his runny nose and eyes. “That money is the problem. That that’s what I have to worry about when my little brother might be dying.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. It is a terrible thing, but there’s nothing he can do to change it. Not when he’s in the same position, in the same shitty building, with the same kind of shitty, low-wage job Louis has. He can only hold him tighter.

“Yeah, Lou,” he sighs. “I know.”

~

They go out onto the fire escape later that night, another place they’ve established for themselves over the past few weeks. The snow has long since melted down to grimy puddles, and it’s cool enough for them to sit outside in only a pullover. They make room for themselves between Harry’s faded terracotta pots, empty apart from old soil, and listen to the sound of dripping water all around them. Louis swallows down cigarettes one after the other and Harry chokes out a couple of drags of own. Mostly he just watches Louis, the lines of his face blurring in the dull amber light surrounding them, his red-rimmed eyes looking bluer than ever as he blinks at the flickering lamp on the street below them. Harry wants to kiss him so badly he aches with it.

They’re both silent, watching a car as it passes by, when Louis asks out of nowhere, “What do you think happens after you die?” It’s the first thing they’ve said to each other since crawling out of Harry’s bed and onto the grated balcony.

He and Louis have had a lot of mind-numbing pseudo-philosophical conversations together out on the fire escape, a habit Harry had thought he’d grown out of after uni. Turns out he wants to talk about everything with Louis. Given the context of this night, though, and the tears still cool against his chest, Harry doesn’t think it’s a good direction to start in.

“Louis,” he murmurs. “You can’t think like that. Ernie, he – he’ll be fine –”

“I wasn’t,” Louis says, turning to meet Harry’s gaze seriously. “I was thinking about the ghost, actually. I feel like I’ve had to, you know, reconsider some things, since,” he waves a hand vaguely toward his own flat.

It’s not a topic Harry has lingered on much. Honestly, the closest he’s come to death is probably sitting on this fire escape with Louis. The whole structure looks like it’s barely clinging on to the side of the building, and it moans dangerously every time they so much as shift in their seat. Harry unfolds his legs and sticks them through the metal bars, resting his forehead against the railing.

“I don’t know, really,” he replies slowly, carefully considering his words. “I don’t have like, a firm opinion on it or anything, but I guess it’d be pretty cool to like, turn into dust and explore the universe or something. Or be something new. A tree, or like. A fish.”

“Become one with the earth and all that?” Louis says, a hint of a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Harry turns his head on the railing to look at him. “Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs. “I think I’d like to be flower.”

“A _flower_ , huh?” Louis says, and he does smile at Harry now. The warmth of his look settles somewhere near the bottom of Harry’s sternum. “My little hippie.”

Their thighs are touching where they’ve snuck their legs between the bars, and Louis reaches a hand over to scratch his fingers gently at Harry’s scalp. Harry shivers under his touch, a dopey smile working its way to his face as his eyes drift shut. “Mm,” he hums, content. “And what about you? What do you think happens?”

Louis slowly combs his fingers out through the length of Harry’s hair and leans closer, settling his arm around his shoulders. “I don’t know, but I certainly wouldn’t spend my afterlife haunting some poor lad in his brand new flat,” he huffs.

They both chuckle lightly, then the quiet night settles around them once more. Another car crawls by, the lamp bulb finally blinks out, and Harry begins to think the conversation has ended when Louis speaks up again.

“Things are simple, and everything is easy,” he says softly, almost like he’s talking to himself. “That’s what I think happens after you die. Or at least that’s what I hope.”

Harry looks over to Louis, but Louis’ eyes stay staring down at the street. Where their feet dangle seven stories above the ground, Harry knocks their ankles together, then tucks one of his behind Louis’.

~

Ernie is recovered and out of the hospital long before Harry leaves town the next weekend, easing their worries and freeing Harry from having to guilt himself over leaving a hurting Louis behind. Louis had been back in great spirits all week, much to Harry’s delight, and he bounces around the flat now, thoroughly distracting Harry as he attempts to pack at the last minute. Eventually he just shoves several pairs of shoes and a canvas bag at him so he can put his energy to good use.

After Harry double-checks to make sure his appliances are off and the thermostat is appropriately set, they heave Harry’s bags down the seven flights of stairs together, Louis complaining the whole way.

“I honestly can’t believe you need three bags for a two day trip to your _own house_ ,” he yells, one flight of stairs behind Harry.

“It’s five days, actually, and I never travel anywhere without at least three pairs of shoes, Lou,” Harry calls back. “And you want options when you go to Holmes Chapel, the weather is unpredictable. I’ll take you home with me next time, then you’ll see.”

The words leave his mouth before Harry realizes just how much they give away. He cringes, but Louis seems to ignore the comment altogether in favor of mocking his packing some more.

“This is England!” he cries. “Just pack for pissing down rain and misery and you’ll be fine!”

Harry reaches the front entryway and stops, waiting for Louis to catch up. A few seconds later, he’s panting down the last flight of stairs and throwing the duffel at Harry’s feet, feigning exhaustion.

“Please,” Harry rolls his eyes. “It was not that heavy.”

Louis presses an insulted palm to his chest. “I am bearing many other burdens,” he retorts affectedly.

Harry throws his head back for a shouty laugh, and Louis preens, eyes twinkling. After, it takes Harry more than a few moments to realize that they’re now just standing in the middle of the foyer, silently gazing at each other as people bustle around them. He begins to shift his weight on his feet uncomfortably, unsure of how to go about saying goodbye. Eventually Louis puts him out of his misery.

“Hey,” he says softly, punching him lightly in the arm. “I might miss you.” He pouts out his bottom lip exaggeratedly.

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right. More like you’ll miss having a place to go at night.”

Louis frowns at him then, and if Harry didn’t know any better, he might think Louis actually looks a little hurt. And that just won’t do.

“C’mon, you’ll be fine!” he cheers, returning the punch to Louis’ arm. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis intones dryly, and a smile breaks through his frown.

“I am serious about that exorcism, though,” Harry adds, pointing a stern finger at him. “We should get this ghost thing fixed.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m not even Catholic.”

“Still. It could work.”

Louis squints at him, like maybe he’s missing the joke, then dismisses the idea with a, “Whatever, Harold.”

Then they’re back to staring at each other. With every second that passes as he continues to linger in the entryway with Louis, Harry can more easily envision himself sprinting after the train he’s inevitably making himself late for. He doesn’t want to pull away from Louis, though. Not yet.

Sensing that their time is coming to a close, it’s Louis who finally opens his arms wide and says, “Alright. C’mere, then,” and pulls Harry into a surprisingly firm hug, throwing his arms all the way around him so his fingers brush at each side of Harry’s ribs.

“Have fun,” he mumbles into Harry’s neck.

“You too,” Harry replies, wrapping himself so tightly around Louis’ shoulders that he ends up holding onto his own arms. It’s the best, warmest hug of his life. “Text me if you need anything.”

Louis pulls away and pats Harry’s cheeks with a goofy grin on his face, then spins away to bound back up the stairs, throwing a “See ya, love!” over his shoulder as he goes.

Harry leaves the building with a confused shake of his head, but when he’s pulling away in the cab, he can’t help but feel he’s leaving something important behind.

~

Harry had been dead wrong if he thought the temporary distance would weaken his feelings for Louis. In fact, by the time he returns to London, Harry’s only been more persistently reminded of how badly he wants Louis around him all the time. And it seems like his trip to Holmes Chapel may have had a similar effect on Louis too, with how often he’s over at Harry’s afterward. Or maybe the ghost has just begun to make its presence known during the daylight hours as well. Harry doesn’t know which explanation is more plausible, which is why he decides to take the ghostbusting into his own incompetent hands so he can figure Louis out, once and for all.

“I think we should have a séance,” he remarks one afternoon, one of the rare ones they both have off from work. Louis is over – like he always is now – and he’s made himself comfortable on the futon and on top of Harry, lounging around as he plays FIFA. He’s got his legs thrown over Harry’s lap, and Harry has tucked the small plastic basket of raspberries he’s been snacking on between Louis’ calves.

Louis pauses his game to look over at him. “Sure, let’s have a séance,” he shrugs.

Instead of continuing his game right away, Louis keeps gazing at him – at his _lips_ , Harry can’t help but notice. Harry feels himself growing hot under Louis’ stare, and he’s just about to make some excuse about double washing fruit in order to get away when Louis says, “You’ve got a seed,” he pokes his finger between his own teeth, “right there.”

Harry immediately decides that there’s no better test of friendship than this. He bares his teeth at Louis in a horrifying grin. “Get it,” he declares.

Without hesitating, Louis leans over and pries the offending seed out from between Harry’s teeth with his fingernail. “Much better,” he smiles as he flicks it away.

Harry gapes at him dumbly. _That actually wasn’t very telling at all_ , he thinks. He decides a séance is still absolutely necessary.

So later that day they go out and buy a Ouija board, which Harry is only a little suspicious of – he’s not sure one should have the ability to communicate with the dead for under twenty pounds – and gather up some of Harry’s scented candles before making their way over to Louis’ flat, just as night begins to fall.

They sit across from each other on the floor, the Ouija board set up between them, and it’s almost romantic with the room illuminated only by golden candlelight. Or it would be romantic if they weren’t about to summon a spirit that nearly had Harry pissing himself the last time they had a run-in.

Harry reads over the instructions quickly, telling Louis to place his index and middle fingers on the planchette as he does the same. Then he’s clearing his throat and speaking out plainly, “Are there any spirits here with us this evening?”

The planchette draws slowly over to the YES in the left corner on the board. Harry’s heart thumps wildly against his chest, his eyes wide when he meets Louis’ sharp gaze. Louis nods for him to continue.

“We invite you to join us, spirit. This is a safe place, we only wish to communicate with you, ask you questions and learn from you,” Harry calls out, reciting what the booklet had instructed him to say. Louis stifles a giggle and Harry glares at him pointedly. One of the most important rules of the Ouija was to take it seriously. Louis mouths “sorry” from across the board.

Harry sits up again, a straight and dignified slope in his shoulders, and asks, “What is your name?”

…And nothing happens.

He frowns. “How did you die?” he tries again.

Still no response. The planchette remains motionless under their fingertips.

“Do you have a message for one of us?”

The planchette jumps forward, darting over to the NO in the opposite corner before Harry even has time to react.

“Well that’s rude,” he scowls.

He asks a few more questions and the planchette drifts around, never idling over any letters or numbers. Harry doesn’t feel like it _wants_ to stop at any of the symbols either, which the manual had informed him he would. In fact, Harry doesn’t feel much of a ghostly presence at all. What he does feel is _Louis_ moving the planchette around the board.

“Okay, that’s definitely you,” he snaps, watching as it finishes spelling out P-E-N-I-S.

“Of course it’s me, Harry,” Louis rolls his eyes. “There isn’t even a ghost!”

That stops Harry short, and his stomach sinks all the way to the ground. He draws his fingers away from the planchette as if he’s been burned.

“Wh – what?” Harry stutters. He’s shocked and he feels…betrayed.

It couldn’t be true. Why would Louis lie to him, _trick_ him like that? For what reason? None that Harry can think of. And it obviously couldn’t be true because Harry had experienced the ghost for himself. A skin-crawling shiver accompanies every one of his memories from their last night spent in Louis’ flat. That fear had been very real.

“I don’t understand,” Harry whispers.

“It’s been gone for weeks now, remember? I’m certain I told you,” Louis contends. Harry gives a slow, confused shake of his head. “Tressa’s schedule finally opened up so she squeezed me in,” Louis explains. “Came by and cleansed the flat with herbs and some of your weird crystals.”

No, Louis had clearly not told him that, though it does explain why their whole floor had smelled of sage that one day. Harry is shocked all over again. “I – I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff?” he sputters.

“I _don’t_ believe in that stuff,” Louis replies earnestly. “But I believed _you_.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious fact in the world, like his words don’t make Harry’s heart stop and stutter. Harry still feels totally lost. “If you already got rid of the ghost, why the hell are we having a séance?!” he blurts, utterly bewildered.

“I don’t know!” Louis exclaims, throwing up his hands. “I thought you were just really into the ghost shit!”

No, Harry’s just really into Louis. Suddenly, another more pressing question comes to mind. “Wait – if the ghost has been gone for _weeks_ , then why have you even been staying with me all this time?” Harry asks.

Louis sighs, a long, drawn-out thing, full of drama. “Because I’m halfway in love with you, you bloody idiot!” he cries.

Harry’s jaw drops. The purpose of the séance had been to get some answers but Harry never thought they’d be given away so freely – by Louis, no less. And _love_ hadn’t even been in the realm of expectation. He can hardly comprehend this shocking admission. Embarrassingly, even after such a declaration, Harry’s thoughts still immediately jump to all of the nights Louis _didn’t_ spend in Harry’s bed, to the green envy Harry’s been choking back all winter. “What about Eleanor? Niall?” he questions.

And Louis laughs in his face. “Oh my god, you _did not_ think I was dating Niall. Or _Eleanor_. That is laughable.” He cackles again as if to prove his point. “No, Harry, they’re my _friends_ – maybe you’ve heard of those? Have some of your own?”

Harry pouts at him. He doesn’t like being teased when he’s so confused.

“You really ought to meet El and Niall though,” Louis adds offhandedly. “They’re a right laugh.”

That green envy must still be hidden away in Harry somewhere, because it’s the only explanation for his next absurd question.

“Why did you stay with them instead of me?”

Harry feels a little hurt even though he knows he shouldn’t; he has no claim over Louis or where he spends his nights. But Harry is literally right next door to him, his flat seems like the most obvious place to go. Whether he has feelings for Harry not, Louis didn’t always come to him and there has to be a reason for it.

Louis averts his eyes down to where he fidgets with the hem of his joggers. “I just didn’t want to overstay my welcome,” he mumbles. “I’d been like, _physically_ throwing myself at you for months and you never acted interested at all. I didn’t want to seem too keen, or something. And like I said, I thought you might’ve just been really into paranormal investigation.”

Harry almost laughs. How could they have gone so wrong? This is the worst thing that ghost ever did to them. “I just thought you needed a place to go, to get out of your haunted flat,” Harry replies, astounded. “I wasn’t even sure we were _real friends_ , Louis.”

Louis frowns at him, an unhappy line creasing his forehead. “How could you think that? You were the only one I ever wanted to go to when I was scared,” Louis says. “You could make me feel so safe. You – you held me when I _cried_ , for Christ’s sake. I don’t cry on just anyone.”

Harry swallows thickly, and Louis keeps talking.

“I’m sorry I _ever_ made you think you aren’t one of the best parts of my life, Harry. I’m honestly so glad I got kicked out of that flatshare and had to move into this wreck of a flat. I’m even thankful for that fucking ghost, because I might never have had courage to knock on your door otherwise,” Louis says, voice soft and self-conscious. “I guess I’m not so good with my words. But I did try to show you, you know? Taking you places, running around town acting like a real knobhead with you. I obviously couldn’t afford to buy you much, but spending time with you…it meant everything to me. I really thought you already knew how I felt.”

As Harry tries to absorb all of this new information, he can’t help but begin to reexamine some of his memories from the last few months. He and Louis, walking through the snow, talking close with their arms linked, dancing in his kitchen together, all of the meals they’ve bought for each other, the conversations they’ve had, the times they’ve laughed until they cried and the times they’ve held each other. And Harry comes to one startling conclusion.

“Have we – have we been dating this whole time?” he stammers out.

Louis shrugs, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “That was the idea, but clearly it didn’t work,” he mutters, then looks up sheepishly. “Sorry about all this, by the way. I hope things aren’t like, irrevocably weird –”

And no, that is the complete opposite of the direction Harry wants to go in. “Can we?” he interrupts, ending Louis’ sadness spiral.

“Can we what?”

“Can we have been dating this whole time? I want to have been dating you this whole time. To continue to date you.”

Now it’s Louis’ turn to look shocked. “ _What?_ ”

“Louis,” Harry murmurs emphatically. “I’ve liked you for so long. I don’t care about ghosts, or how much you can afford to buy me. I care about _you_. Like, _a lot_.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, Harry carefully moves their forgotten Ouija board to the side – he’ll return it to the shop later, no way is he spending twenty pounds on something that didn’t even work – and shuffles forward on his knees until he and Louis are inches apart. Louis is grinning so hard his eyes crinkle in the corners. Harry gently places his hands on each side of his neck, thumbs stroking at his jaw, and says determinedly, “And I am going to kiss you now, because I’ve been thinking about it for months.”

Harry doesn’t know if he gets his way in the end, unsure of which one of them actually closes the distance because they both lean in at the same time, both so eager for it. But god, is it everything he’s wanted.

The press of their lips is soft at first. Not hesitant, but tender, as if they’re both relishing in the touch they’ve been waiting for for so long. To Harry, it feels just the same as all of the dreary nights he’s spent curled up in bed with Louis – the warmth of Louis’ arm around him in the night, the warmth of his lips the same as the warmth and comfort of Louis himself when everything else could seem so bleak.

Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, one hand coming to rest on his hip as the other reaches up to hold Harry’s face, stroking reverently from his temple down to his chin. For being so boisterously and aggressively himself in almost everything else he does, Louis is nothing but gentle and doting as he kisses Harry now. It’s all fleeting traces of his fingertips and the barest brush of their lips. For Harry, it’s not enough.

“You can touch me you know,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ mouth. “I’m not made of glass.” He presses a firmer kiss to Louis’ lips and adds, “Or a ghost.”

Harry feels Louis smile into the kiss just before he deepens it, their tongues meeting with a heady slide that makes Harry’s eyelids flutter. Louis tastes like the wine they’d been drinking before their séance – the cheapest bottle they could find, but still sweet and rich on Harry’s tongue now, a taste he can’t get enough of. He could probably kiss Louis forever. He _wants_ to kiss Louis forever, and he bites down on Louis’ lip to try and get the message across.

Louis groans and eagerly hauls him closer. Harry ends up almost halfway in his lap, bracing himself with a tight hold on Louis’ thigh while his other hand cups at his jaw. Louis’ hand slips up beneath his shirt, fingers gripping at his back, and Harry shivers under his touch. Not out of fear this time, but in anticipation. Louis begins to lean back then, presumably to pull Harry over top of him too, but Harry stops him short, mindful of the burning candles circling them – the candles that Harry is most definitely going to claim were very purposeful in his seduction plan when he recounts this story later. Instead of laying them down, Harry carefully pulls Louis up to sit on his knees as well, guiding him closer so their legs come together and chests brush. He holds Louis close by the small of his back, running his other hand through his hair, tangling his fingers in all of the cowlicks Harry has grown so fond of. Everything else, all of Harry’s worries quickly fall away, only phantoms as he loses himself in the realness of their kiss.

When their mouths do finally break apart, both of them separating to breathe, Harry opens his eyes to catch a glimpse of Louis. His cheeks are flushed, his lips as red as their cheap wine, and he looks gorgeous in the flickering light of the candles. The shadows of the room no longer throw Louis’ cheekbones into startling relief, as it had looked when Harry watched him from across the Ouija board, anticipating a fright. Rather, it now looks as if the glow of the room comes from Louis himself. And it takes Harry’s breath away again.

They grin at each other and Harry can’t stop himself from leaning in once more, nudging their noses together and brushing their lips in a light, chaste peck. Against Louis lips, Harry mumbles, “Only halfway in love with me then?”

Because Harry realizes it now, what it meant every time Louis came to his door, what it meant when they drifted to each other in their sleep, what it meant when they were _together_. There’s a feeling there, something so obvious in the way their lips meet, something strong and resonant and whole, pulling them closer and closer. Harry is hesitant to say they’re in love, but he knows it won’t take much more to send them both falling now.

Louis smirks. “Why don’t we move this to that bed over there and see about finding the other half, hmm?”

This time, instead of tripping all over each other in their haste to get out, they’re chasing each other into bed, kissing and touching and laughing like it would break them to stop.

~

Louis asks about it later that night.

They’re both sweaty, lying together under Louis’ sheets and pressing giggles into each other’s skin, like they’ve just gotten away with something good. The candles have burnt down to liquid wax but still flicker valiantly from across the room. Harry feels so light. Louis is taking up most of the bed and yet still manages to be halfway on top of him – not that Harry minds. He’s content just holding him, nosing into the softness of Louis’ hair with an arm around him as Louis rests his head in the dip of his shoulder.

“I’m not tired yet Louis, what should we do now?” Harry whines, flopping his legs around uselessly. “We usually do something exciting at nights.”

“What, the sex wasn’t exciting enough for you, Harry?” Louis replies, affronted.

“Noooooo,” Harry hoots, jokingly bopping his knuckles against Louis’ cheek. “That’s not what I meant. I just feel like I need to do an…activity? Like that time we learned how to make paper cranes. And last week you made me walk with you to that taco place.”

“I was hungry,” Louis defends.

“It was a half an hour away!”

“Don’t even pretend like those weren’t the best nachos you’ve ever had,” Louis retorts.

Harry can’t argue with that, they were good nachos.

Louis shifts around until he’s more comfortable against Harry’s chest. “Maybe we should…knock down the wall between our flats?” he suggests. “More room that way.”

Harry cranes his neck to scowl down at him. “Now that definitely sounds like too much work.”

Louis just hums. They’re silent for awhile longer, Harry running his fingers through Louis’ hair, gently separating the waves as Louis scratches lightly at his belly. Then Louis clears his throat and says softly, “I’m kind of serious.”

“About remodeling?” Harry laughs. “I feel like our landlord would have a few choice words to say about that.”

“No, about, erm…living together?”

Harry is taken aback. There’s a stilted pause where he opens his mouth to say something, but Louis barrels ahead before he can even get a word in, a nervous waver in his voice.

“I mean, maybe not like, right now. Seems a bit early still, but someday? Soon? I think we could afford it between the two of us. Find someplace closer, something a bit bigger, _nicer_. Someplace that won’t kill us of asbestos exposure before we’re thirty,” Louis babbles. “As much as I do appreciate everything this flat has done for me,” he pats Harry’s hip meaningfully, “I don’t want to die here and become the next resident ghost. I don’t know, it was just something that crossed my mind, you don’t need to like, answer right now or –”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry interrupts, if only to give him a chance to breathe. “I wasn’t planning on staying here for forever either.” He shuffles around so they’re both lying on the pillow facing each other, then nudges at Louis’ chin until their eyes meet. “I would love to live with you,” Harry smiles.

Louis smiles back, a bright and happy and adoring thing that Harry never wants to stop seeing. He brings a hand up to hold Harry’s face and closes the distance between their lips.

~

Later – much later – when their kids beg them to hear a story before bedtime, Harry and Louis will look to each other and smile – always smiling at each other – and Louis will say, “Would you like to hear a ghost story?”

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/) and a [rebloggable post](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/109822637540/you-and-me-and-the-devil-makes-three-by) if anyone's interested!
> 
> Big Bang coming soon :)


End file.
